


StormPilot Suite: Day 5 - Malinconico

by whorl



Series: StormPilot Suite [7]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Stormpilot - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorl/pseuds/whorl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn and Poe Dameron get to know each other. Perhaps a little romance may blossom, if they are given enough time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good luck

**Author's Note:**

> Poe Dameron, Finn, myriad other Star Wars characters, and small sections of dialogue from "The Force Awakens" that appear in this story are all the property of Disney/Lucasfilm. No copyright infringement intended. Please don't sue me, I have no money.

Finn rolled over and groaned. The sunlight seemed a little meaner that morning. Like the intensity was turned up just enough to make his eyes hurt a bit. He had the barest hint of a headache, but more worryingly, it felt like he might have eaten an old sock the night before.

Finn heard an unusual flapping noise and sat up gingerly. He wasn’t sure how long the effects of drinking typically lasted, but he didn’t think that he was supposed to hallucinate a vision of Poe fighting what looked like a small mountain of flapping tan canvas. It all became much clearer when Poe snapped a rod in place and the mess of fabric, rendered unruly by the wind, began to take on the appearance of an intentional structure. Poe was tying cords to the edges of the raised platform that housed his bed and footlocker. Once three of the sides were done, it started looking like the whole thing might just survive a stiff breeze.

Poe looked up from his project and smiled. “Morning, Finn. You look pretty alive.”

“Poe, what are you doing?” Finn squinted at his friend, rubbing his eyes. “Is that a—?”

“Tent? Yep.” Poe tied down the last two loose cords, securing the final side snugly in place. “It’s gonna rain today.”

Finn gazed, unbelieving, at the cloudless sky. “You are joking me.”

“See for yourself. But I’d advise tossing anything you don’t want soaking wet in there.” Poe gestured to the opening of the tent. “Rain’s great, actually. Good luck.” Off Finn’s bewildered look, he continued. “I don’t know where it started, but it’s a Resistance tradition that rain the day before a battle is supposed to be good luck. They extend it to snowstorms on ice planets.” He shrugged, smiling. “If nothing else, it means the ships are nice and clean before we start the campaign. Hey, any reason for good luck? I’ll take it.”

Finn stood up, stretching. “Poe, how in the world can you tell it’s going to rain?”

“I have no clue. Pressure change, maybe? The air smells different? Who knows, maybe it’s **the Force**.” Poe raised his hands, wiggling his fingers in mock mysticism. “But whatever it is, I have a pretty good track record on this planet, so I’d chuck your stuff inside if I were you.” He gave Finn an amiable slap on the back. “I’m gonna run over to the base. Catch you at breakfast.”

Still feeling slightly dazed, Finn watched his friend jog off. He decided that a shower would help him shake off his residual fuzzy-headed feeling. Finn tossed his bedroll and bag into the tent, securing the flap back down again when he was done. He walked to the base, casting another quizzical look at the sky, but still couldn't detect any sign of rain to come.

Finn stepped out of the shower refreshed but ravenous. He hurried over to the cantina, scanning the crowd for Poe, and spotted him sitting at a nearly-empty table. While standing in line to get his tray, he bumped into a pilot he’d met the night before. He racked his brain trying to remember her name—Jessika! She animatedly began asking him questions about flying with Solo as they both helped themselves to pancakes. Finn was a little surprised when she followed him to the table where Poe was sitting, continuing the conversation.

Poe grinned widely when he saw Finn and Jessika approaching—together. _So last night’s social event was a success after all!_ He raised his eyebrows at Finn, who returned a smile and tiny shrug of his shoulders. The three chatted amiably, as though they were unaware of what was planned for the next day. Poe finished his breakfast and stood to seek out Colonel Marsen, leaving his friends discussing the unsophisticated controls of the Falcon’s gun turrets.

Finn watched his friend walk across the cantina, grabbing a couple of mugs of coffee before he sat down at the Colonel’s table. Poe pushed one across to the older man, who drank from it gratefully. Finn was too far away to hear their conversation—and was involved in one of his own—but he saw the tension leave Marsen’s shoulders as the two men talked. He was amazed at the transformation. The night before, the Colonel had been hateful, dismissive. But today his expression, though solemn, was earnest and hopeful as he spoke with Poe.

Finn and Jessika finished their breakfast and cleared their trays before parting ways, Jessika joining a large group of pilots. She’d said her group, led by Poe, would be spending the morning running through dozens of flight patterns, settling on ten or fifteen for use the next day. Finn had several meetings of his own lined up—first with Solo and Chewbacca, next joining Poe’s group to discuss what he knew about TIE figher pilot strategy, then talking with a handful of the senior tacticians overseeing coordination of the attack on the Starkiller Base. Finn was a little sad that there would be no further work on Poe’s X-wing, no chance that day for conversation with his friend. He looked back into the cantina and saw Poe and Marsen standing up, arms clasped in a warm handshake.

Poe was glad that Marsen had shown up that morning. They’d had a good conversation, and he was confident that the Colonel had the best intentions for improving his attitude and rebuilding his relationships with his colleagues. He would remain an asset to the Resistance.

Finn was about to head deeper into the base when he heard a whoop from inside the cantina. A few others shouted as well, and a ragged cheer arose as a deluge of rain, thunderous on the metal roof of the building, began soaking the airfield. Finn looked over at Poe, who just shrugged at him with a knowing grin. Finn laughed and gave him a thumbs up, before walking down the darkened hallway into the center of the base.


	2. A better leader

Dinner was a more solemn affair than usual. The impending battle couldn’t be ignored any longer. Finn knew that many people would be sleeping fitfully that night, worrying about the next day. He could see the uneasiness in some expressions, in others stoicism. In a few faces—all younger pilots—Finn saw outright fear. He wondered what his own eyes betrayed that night, if anyone bothered to look closely enough.

Finn was sitting with a few of the pilots he had met the night before. Everyone was polite and friendly, if preoccupied with their own thoughts. What little conversation they had centered on the dinner itself—real food, instead of the usual military rations. _Might as well have good food—might be our last supper._ Finn kept this thought to himself.

For the first time since arriving on D’Qar, Poe didn’t join him. In fact, Finn didn’t see him take a tray of food at all. Instead, he was moving around the cantina, sitting for a few minutes with different groups before standing and moving again. Unlike the others, Poe was cheerful, smiling, his usual spirited self. Finn watched him as he circulated, getting a grin out of a somber face, pulling a laugh out of a group with a quick joke, restoring confidence with a quiet word and a firm hand on a shoulder. Finn admired his ability to inspire the group. Without speeches, medals, or rank, Poe was being a better leader than Finn had ever seen in his years under the First Order.

The buzz of conversation began to quiet down, and Poe strode over to their table as General Organa and her top aides stood up in front of the crowd. Silently, Finn slid over on the bench, making space for Poe, who sat down next to him. He had saved a half a sandwich from his own dinner plate, which he passed over to Poe.

Poe took the sandwich gratefully, bumping Finn’s shoulder with his own as a gesture of thanks. The two men sat quietly, listening as the aides finished up their statements. The General began to speak, but Poe wasn’t listening carefully. He’d heard the speech many times before, in one form or another. Poe hoped that Finn didn’t mind his earlier absence, and wondered what his friend was thinking on that night, on the eve of battle. He snuck a glance over at Finn, who appeared to be attentively listening to the General’s speech. Poe turned his attention back to the front of the room.

Organa was wrapping up, thanking the members of the Resistance for their courage and their service. She gazed at the assembled group, silent for a long moment. Leia hated this. Hated that she had to send these men and women to fight. To die in the name of the Resistance. Each time they defeated their enemies, the victory was short-lived. Evil would rise again. Yet Leia never doubted the necessity of their actions. Her eyes roamed the faces of the crowd until she caught sight of Han, and she smiled, sadly. “May the Force be with you all.” She turned and exited the room as applause echoed throughout the cantina, returning to the quiet of her quarters for one last evening of peace.

“She gives a good speech.” Finn nodded at Organa’s retreating form. “But at the end she seemed—I dunno, wistful.” The two men remained sitting as others began to stand and slowly file out of the cantina.

“It’s hard on her.” Poe sat forward, leaning his arms on the table in front of them. “It’s rough, sending people to fight. Knowing that some of them are going to die. Knowing that some of the decisions you make will be wrong.”

Finn could tell that his friend was speaking about more than just the General’s feelings. “But that’s what makes the best leaders. Taking that responsibility. Knowing you’re going to mess up sometimes. But still doing your best. And not giving up hope.”

Poe looked at his friend, and allowed himself a small smile. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Finn.” The cantina had nearly emptied out. “C’mon, let’s head back. I think the rain’s let up a little bit.”


	3. Hope

A steady drizzle accompanied their jog back to the campsite. Stepping into the tent, Poe took a moment to shake the water from his hair, droplets spattering on the canvas walls. He crouched in a corner, fumbling for a moment in the darkness, and then handed Finn an old oil lamp and a box of matches. “Not quite a campfire, but you can still do the honors.”

Finn lit the lamp, adjusting the wick so that the flame burned steadily. He watched as Poe walked further into the tent and quickly pulled off his soaked shirt, replacing it with a dry one from his footlocker. In the dim light, Finn could see the healing bruises crisscrossing Poe’s back and winced in sympathy. The space in the tent was small, and it was unusual not to see the stars, not to hear the quiet crackle of the campfire as they talked. Yet the soft drumming of the rain on the canvas tent was a soothing sound. Both men prepared for bed, exhausted after a long day.

Finn stared at the ceiling of the tent for a while before speaking. “Poe, when this is all over, what will you do?”

“Sleep for about a month, probably.”

“I’m serious. I mean, say we can win this. Not just this one battle, but say we can stop the First Order—forever. What will you do when the war is over?” Everything had been leading up to the next day. Finn hadn’t really stopped to think about what might happen afterwards.

Poe shook his head. “I don’t really know. I’ve been doing this for so long, I guess I stopped thinking about what I’d do next.”

“What would you do, if you could do anything? If there wasn’t a war to fight anymore?”

Poe’s brows furrowed slightly as he thought. “I guess I’d still do something with flying. I love it too much to give that up. Maybe I’d be an instructor. Teach little kids how to scare the crap out of their parents by flying like lunatics.” He grinned, pointing at the tent ceiling, beyond to the stars that hid behind the rainclouds. “Whatever happened, I’d still want to be up there.” He paused for a moment, imagining that future, then looked back at Finn. “What about you? What do you want to do when we finally win this thing?”

“You know, in some ways, I don’t really care what I do. But I want to visit places—as many worlds as I can—see everything that’s out there in the universe.” Finn bit his lip in thought. “Maybe I could train to be a nurse or a medic. Something that could help people. Save some lives. Make up for the past, a little bit.”

“Doctor Finn, medicine man. I like it.” Poe’s jocular tone turned genuine. “I think you’d be a great medic, Finn, if that’s what you want to do. And I’m with you on traveling. There’s so much out there to see, so many interesting places. So much beauty. I forget that sometimes, with all the shit we’re dealing with these days.”

Both men fell silent, gazing at the tent roof, as the flickering lantern flame cast dancing shadows. Poe thought his friend might have dozed off, and was startled when Finn spoke again.

“Poe, what if this is it?” Finn couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. “Not dying, I mean. But what if we can never stop fighting? What if the war goes on forever? Or we defeat the First Order, and something new comes along? The General and Solo—they all thought they’d defeated the Empire, but here we are today. What if it never stops?”

Poe rolled onto his side and rested his head on his hand. “You sound like me, fifteen years ago. I asked Lor San Tekka that exact same question.”

Finn’s eyes widened in alarm as he recognized the name. The man’s death had caused Poe so much anguish—he didn’t mean to bring up such a raw subject with his question.

“No, it’s okay.” Poe nodded to emphasize his words, and continued. “I had come to rely on his advice. After—” He cleared his throat. “After my mother died, I’d visit him, just to talk, and to remember her. They were so alike, such good friends, talking with him—sometimes it felt just like I was talking with her. He helped me keep her memory alive. I was a pretty angry kid sometimes, but he would set me straight. So, back then, Ben Solo suddenly turned to the dark side—became Kylo Ren—while the First Order kept gaining power. I didn’t know what to do. I was flying for the Republic then, but I felt more and more like I should join the Resistance.” Poe glanced over at his friend, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Poe looked down at his blanket and began picking at a loose thread. “I went to see Tekka, right after Kylo Ren had betrayed the Jedi. We were all shocked, but when I went to see him, he looked shattered. Broken. And, idiot kid that I was, I didn’t think to say anything kind. Instead, I asked him why we should bother trying, when evil kept winning. Why it mattered if all we’d do is keep fighting forever. If we’d never have peace.”

Finn kept silent. He was eager to hear what advice the old man had given Poe. Anything that might give him hope.

Poe continued, lifting his gaze to his friend. “Despite everything that had happened, he sat me down, looked me straight in the eyes, and he said something I’ll never forget. ‘Love always wins. It might take longer than evil and hatred, resentment and envy, but **love always wins**.’” Poe blinked back tears, smiling. “He was so earnest when he said that, I could see he really believed it. And that helped me believe it, too.”

“Do you still think he was right?” Finn had seen so much optimism from the Resistance fighters, but he couldn’t ignore his past, witnessing the horrors committed by the First Order.

“Yeah, I do.” Poe sighed. “Though some days it’s harder than others.” He rolled onto his back, folding his hands over his chest as he closed his eyes. “Hey, we should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.” There was a smile in Poe’s voice, laughing at his understatement. “G’night, Finn.”

“’Night, Poe.” Finn pulled his blanket up over his shoulders and contemplated Tekka’s words. The rain fell steadily, trickling in rivulets down the sides of the tent, as both men drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Finn’s dream was disjointed, troubling. He was standing in the center of Tuanul, the town burning around him, screams filling the air. He tried to run, but found himself on the Finalizer, in the interrogation room. Kylo Ren was staring at him, holding him in place, igniting his lightsaber as he advanced. Finn closed his eyes as Ren raised his lightsaber above his head, but opened them in surprise when he heard Poe’s voice. _Finn—I’m going to call you Finn, alright?_ He saw his friend standing, his back to him, and Finn reached out to touch his shoulder. But as he turned, Finn saw it wasn’t Poe, but Captain Phasma, who threw him roughly to the ground. _Report to my division at once!_ He rolled out of the way, and found himself strapped into the TIE fighter, felt the sickening shudder as the ship was hit, sending it spinning to the planet below over and over and over again.   
  
Finn awoke with a jolt, heart racing. The lantern had burned out, but Finn thought he could barely make out the shape of Poe’s footlocker against the tent wall. Finn spoke into the darkness, not moving, unsure if his dream had ended. “Poe?”  
  
In his sleep, Poe rolled onto his side, and put an arm over Finn, pulling him tight against his own chest, murmuring quietly. “Shhhhh.” Poe’s steady breathing resumed, signaling that he had remained asleep.   
  
Finn was startled by the contact. He could feel the heat from his arm, its weight comforting. Poe’s slow breaths were warm on his neck, keeping time with the rhythmic movement of his chest, pressed close to Finn’s back. The movement had been instinctual, Finn knew. He wondered who it was _—_ whose nightmares had Poe calmed countless times, so often that the action no longer woke him. Why wasn't that person there today? With a pang of sadness, Finn realized his own longing. _Could that person ever be me?_ He wished it hadn't been an unconscious action _—_ at that moment, more than anything, Finn wished that Poe had wanted to pull **him** close and protect **him** from his terrifying dream. But now wasn’t the time. Telling Poe how he felt—today, the day of battle—even if, by some miracle, Poe felt the same way—it would be a distraction. Finn closed his eyes and listened to the quiet rainfall, willing himself to return to a happier dream—a dream in which Poe loved him back.

Poe awoke, as usual, with the first birdcalls of the morning. He was surprised to find himself rather intimately entangled with Finn, his arm draped over the other man, who was holding onto him in his sleep. Chiding himself, Poe had to admit that his unconscious mind was certainly more proactive than his awake self. He knew that trying to extricate his trapped arm would surely wake up his friend, but gauging the dim light filtering through the seams of the tent, he still had a little time before he had to get up. For the moment, Poe allowed himself to enjoy the embrace, imagining a reality in which he and Finn could wake up that way every morning. Soon enough, Finn coughed and shifted, allowing Poe to gracefully slip his arm away and stand up. Guiltily, he thought that this was hardly his first escape at dawn. But this was the first time he wished he didn’t have to leave surreptitiously. _Someday, maybe._ Poe gazed at the sleeping figure for a long moment before grabbing a small oblong box out of his footlocker and slipping silently out of the tent. 


End file.
